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EULOGY 



ON TUB 



LIFE AND CHARACTER 



C"F 'USE- LATE- 



DANIEL WEBSTER, 



PRONOUNCED AT THE REQUEST OF 



%\t floftsirillc fiitrajr §>uxtty, 



APRIL 27th, 1853. 



2337- £Eou. tTaxnes Ooopcv, 



V. S. SENATOR FROM PENNSYLVANIA. 



POTTSVILLE: 
BENJAMIN BANNAN, PRINTER, CENTRE STREET. 

1853. 



I 



V- 



ET-340 



Pottsville, 30th April, 1853. 
Sir :— The undersigned Committee upon Lectures, have been instructed 
to tender you the thanks of the Pottsville Literary Society, for the Eulogy, 
pronounced by you, before it, on the 28th instant, and respectfully to solicit 
a copy for publication. 

Yours, with highest regard, 

WM. L. WHITNEY, 
C. LITTLE, 
THOS. H. WALKER. 
Hon. James Cooper. 



Pottsville, April 30th, 1853. 
Gentlemen : — In compliance with the request contained in your note, 
of this date, I herewith transmit you a copy of the discourse delivered by 
me, on the 27th inst., on the Life and Character ot Daniel Webster, and 
place the same at your disposal. 

Very respectfully, 

Your obedient servant, 

JAMES COOPER. 

Wm. L. Whitney, 

C. Little, and 

Thos. H. Walker, Esquires, 

Committee, &c. &c. 



6 

rious significance, have passed already into the other hemis- 
phere, to become, amoogsl the down-trodden and oppressed 
people of the old world, watch-words on the banners of free- 
dom, and where they will be translated, sooner or later, into 
battle cries, to he shouted in the van of armies struggling for 
man's just and indubitable birth-right. These men, the first 
in the generations of freedom, have lived, acted their parts, 
and passed away; but not into oblivion or forgetfulness, for 
their deeds survive in the noble institutions which they hi 
bequeathed to their country. But these great men were not 
only the founders of new and wiser institutions than had existed 
previously to their advent into the world, but they have left be- 
hind them examples of wisdom, courage -and unselfish devotion, 
which have produced their fruits in the generation which suc- 
ceeded them, and which is now fast disappearing in its turn. 
It is one, and one of the most illustrious of this second genera- 
tion of American sages and patriots of whom I have been in- 
vited to speak to-night — not in the language of common-place 
eulo«Y, but of historic truth. It is of DANIEL WEBSTER, the 
man, the orator, lawyer and statesman, such as he lived and 
died, about whom I am to speak, about whom you are to listen. 
And perhaps no better illustration of the workings of our re- 
publican institutions could be found than the history of the life 
of the great American state-man, the ablest expounder and 
champion of the Constitution. Having been born and entered 
upon the stage of public action, whilst the father- of the re- 
public and the trainers of its constitution were still at the helm, 
guiding the newly launched ship of state, he became deeply 
imbued with their principles, and thoroughly acquainted with 
the views which they entertained of the manner of conducting 
the government, both in regard to its domestic and foreign pol- 
icy. His reverence for Washington and his noble compatriots 
was deep and sincere ; and his respect for their opinions had 
great influence in shaping and giving color to his own. 

Mr. W< bster descended from revolutionary stock. Ili> father 
was a native of New Hampshire, where Daniel Webster, the 
subject of this discourse, was horn on the 18th day of January. 



1782. Ebenezcr Webster, the father, was a true New Eng- 
land man, thoroughly penetrated with the best of the old puri- 
tan characteristics — sincerity, earnestness, courage, and a deep 
conviction of the right of man to govern himself, and enjoy, 
unmolested, liberty of conscience. Accordingly, when Eng- 
land assumed the right, of levying taxes upon her American 
colonies, without allowing them the privilege of representa- 
tion in Parliament, he was prompt in taking part with those 
who denounced the right, claimed by the mother country, as an 
usurpation. But he was not content with a mere approval of 
the opinions proclaimed by such patriotic leaders as Adams and 
Otis in the north, and Jefferson and Henry in the south. The 
rights which his judgment and conscience recognized as belong- 
ing to the colonies, his hand was ready to vindicate and main- 
tain. It was therefore, that when his countrymen took up arms 
in defence of their rights, he joined them, and fought side by 
side with the patriots of the revolution in the battle of freedom. 
He entered the war of Independence as a private, and rose to 
the rank of Captain — having taken part in many of the battles 
which were fought. 

Retiring from the service at the end of the war, in which he 
was distinguished for fidelity and courage, he retired to his farm 
at Salisbury, in New Hampshire, which he cultivated assidu- 
ously with his own hands, endeavoring to draw from its sterile 
soil the means of supporting his family and educating his sons 
for the duties of citizens under the new republic, which he had 
aided to establish. 

The family of Daniel Webster's father was a most exemplary 
one, in which virtue, affection, parental and filial duty were blen- 
ded, and ruled in concert. The father, firm in discharging his 
duties, was the companion of his children; the mother, pious 
without austerity or vain parade, performed her part as a chris- 
tian parent, and kind and benevolent neighbor, with assiduous 
devotion — meriting and receiving from her husband, children 
and friends the affectionate respect and gratitude due for un- 
tiring kindness and unobtrusive charity. It was in the bosom 
of such a family, where all the reciprocal obligations and duties 



8 

.1 citizen, parent and child were cordially acknowledged and 
paid, that Daniel Webster, the future orator and statesman was 

reared. In this family there were no s< Ifishness, no jarring in- 
terests or jealousies. All strove to promote the welfare and 
happiness of all; — the father vieing with the sons in lightening 

the burthens of an existence drawn from a sterile and inhospi- 
table soil. 

The early education of the children was the result of parental 
teaching, added to the meagre instruction afforded by common 
country schools. The picture drawn by Daniel Webster, in an 
anecdote related of his father, of their manner of feeling and 
acting towards each other, displays in a striking and beautiful 
light, traits of parental care and solicitude, and of filial love 
and tenderness, such as arc rarely met with, even among those 
bound together by the closest ties of blood. The anecdote to 
which 1 refer, is contained in a letter, written by him to a 
friend, some six or seven years ago: — 

He says, "Of a hot day in July — it must have been one of 
the last years of Washington's administration — I was making 
hay with my father, just where I now see a remaining elm tree, 
about the middle of the afternoon. The Hon. Abiel Foster, 
M. C, who lived in Canterbury, six miles off, called at the 
house and came into the field to sec my father. He was a 
worthy man, college learned, and had been a minister, but was 
not. a person of any considerable native powers. }]y father 
was his friend and supporter. He talked a while in the field 
and went away. When he was gone my lather called me to 
him, and we sat down together on a bay-cock. He said, 'My 
son, that is a worthy man; he is a member of Congress; he 
goes to Philadelphia and gets six dollars a day, while I toil 
here. Jt i> because he had an education, which I never had. 
[f I had had his early education, I should have been in Phila- 
delphia in hi< place. I came near it as it was; but I missed 
it, and now 1 must work here.' 'My dear tat her, you shall not 
work; brother and I will work lor you, and wear out our hands, 

and you shall rest :' and I remember to have cried, and I cry 

•low at the rccollectiun. ■ 31y child,' said he, k it is of no impor- 



lance to me; i now live but for my children; I could not give 
your elder brother the advantages of knowledge, but I can do 
something for you. Exert yourself; improve your opportuni- 
ties; learn, learn; and when I am gone you will not need to 
fro through the hardships which 1 have undergone, and which 
have made me an old man before my time.' 

The next day he took me to Exeter, to the Phillips Acade- 
my — placed me under the tuition of its excellent preceptor, 
Dr. Benjamin Abbott, still living. 

My father died in 1806. I neither left nor forsook him. 
My opening an office al Boscawen was that I might be near 
him. I closed his eyes in this very house. (The old New 
Hampshire homestead.) He died at 07 years of age, after a 
life of exertion, toil and exposure — a private soldier, an officer, 
a legislator, a judge — everything that a man could be, to whom 
learning never had disclosed her ample page. 

My first speech was made before him when he was on the 
bench; he never heard me a second time. 

He had in him what I recollect to have been some of the 
character of the old Puritans. He was deeply religious, but 
not sour; on the contrary good-humored and facetious — show- 
ing even in his age, with a contagious laugh, teeth as white as 
alabaster ; gentle, soft, playful, and yet having a heart in him 
which he seemed to have borrowed from a lion. He could 
frown — a frown it ims — but cheerfulness, good humor and 
smiles composed his most usual aspect." 

This is the testimony of an affectionate son, possessing him- 
self a kind, generous and tender heart, which melted at the 
recollection of the self-sacrificing disposition and conduct of a 
beloved father. Of his brother, Ezekiel Webster, he speaks 
likewise, in terms indicative of the deep, unchanging, fraternal 
affection, which he cherished for his memory. 

In the same letter, from which I have just quoted, he speaks 
of his brother: — "My father, Ehenezer Webster," says the let- 
ter, "was born at Kingston, in the lower part of the state, 
(New Hampshire,) in 1743, the handsomest man T ever saw, 
except my brother Ezekiel, who appeared to me — and so does 



2 



Ml 

he now seem to me— -the very finest human form i ever hiu s 
eyes on. I saw him in his coffin — a white forehead, a tinged 
cl»eck, a complexion as clear as heavenly light ! But where 
am I straying? The grave 1ms closed upon him., as it has on- 
all my brothers and sisters. We shall soon be all together, 
Dear kindred blood, how I love you all !" 

I have cited these passages, for the purpose of skowing that 
his heart was full of kindness and affection? and that the strug- 
gles and triumphs of a brilliant political career had nut blotted 
from his memory the obligations which he owed to hi^ father 
and brother for their toils and sacrifices in bis behalf. This 
brother, older by several years than himself, had remained 
cheerfully at home, toiling patiently to aid his father, in pro- 
viding means to educate his younger and les9 vigorous and 
healthy brother — postponing, if not giving up entirely, the 
chance of educating himself. This generous sacrifice, how- 
ever, in behalf of a brother of a weak and feeble constitution, 
(for such in early life it was believed to be,) did not cost him 
thus dear. After his brother Daniel's education had been 
completed, he was himself sent to college, and graduated in 
1804, with the highest honors of his class. Like Daniel, his 
brother, he was a remarkable man, possessed of great intellec- 
tual strength ; and if his inclination had borne him that way. 
it is hardly to be doubted, that he would have attained great 
political distinction. But lie was averse to public life, coveting 
in no wise the applause of the multitude, or the fame which its 
suffrage disposes, lie was contented with the affection of his 
family, and the respect and confidence of the community ii K 
which he lived, and which he had earned by a conscientious 
discharge of all his duties. In the prime of life, this affection- 
ate son and brother was cut off. lie fell down and expired in 
Court, in the midst of an argument, which, if my recollection 
serve me right, he was addressing to the .jury. 

I have dwelt longer on the character of this devoted, affec- 
tionate son and brother than, perhaps, was necessary to illus- 
trate the proper subject of my remarks; but no <>ne intimately 
connected with Daniel Webster, either by the ties of blood or 



II 

affectionate intercourse, can be quite devoid of interest. In- 
deed, it would be scarcely possible to imagine any thing more 
interesting, than an inquiry into the characters of those, who 
were the chosen associates of this great man — of those who 
shared his affection, who were his counsellors, and the confi- 
dants of bis purposes, hopes, cares and anxieties. To ascer- 
tain what qualities of heart and mind had commended them to 
his affection and confidence — whether it was a noble candor, 
scorning the dictates of a selfish prudence, which spoke honest 
words of wholesome counsel, unpalatable though they might 
be, or obsequiousness, professing acquiescence and approval of 
every act and sentiment of him at whose feet they fawned, 
would shed a flood of light on the character of the great states- 
man whose life and actions are so intimately blended with the 
history of the country, during a large portion of its indepen- 
dent existence. 

That his character, like that of every human being, had its 
imperfections, is undoubtedly true ; and that one of these im- 
perfections, was a love of praise, too indiscriminate, will 
scarcely be denied by any one intimately acquainted with Mr. 
Webster. And this trait of his character, almost of necessity, 
induced to some extent, the bestowal of his confidence on those 
who were ready to minister to this propensity. It is not, there- 
fore, a matter of surprise, that some of his habitual and trust- 
ed associates were of the obsequious elass to which I have just 
referred, and who saw perfection in everything he said or did. 
But from this, it by no means follows, that he admitted to the 
intimacy of his friendship none but flatterers and sycophants, 
or that he could not understand and appreciate the frank sin- 
cerity that would speak to him the truth, even at the risk of 
Ins displeasure. Many such, who prefered his honor and fame 
to his favor, if it were to be purchased at the expense of can- 
dor and truth, were the objects of his most unreserved confi- 
dence and affectionate regard ; and though praise, poured out 
by the tongue or pen of ingenious adulation, was sweet, and 
drunk down, perhaps, with too keen a relish, wholesome truth, 
and even reproof, was neither despised or rejected. 



L2 

By many, Mr. Webster was believed to be cold, tinsympa- 

f losing, and governed by an ambition purely selfish. Tliat he 
was ambitious, is true; and that the world knows, because he 
never concealed it. But his ambition was not the vulgar, self- 
ish ambition of little minds, striving after personal aggrandize- 
ment, with aims of a merely personal character. His ambi- 
tion was elevated, lofty, noble. Its aim was the country — the 
developement of its resources, physical, intellectual and moral; 
the augmentation of its wealth, its power and glory. His am- 
bition was to connect his name inseparably with that of the 
country, and to raise the latter to the skies. His was, there- 
fore, I repeat, no selfish ambition ; and affords no evidence of 
a selfish nature. On the contrary, he desired to possess power, 
that he might use it beneficently — to promote the welfare of 
his country, and afford him an opportunity of proving his grati- 
tude to his friends, for their long years of devotion to him. 

In all the private relations of son, husband, father and neigh- 
bor, he was still more loved for the affectionate; kindness of 
heart and benevolence of disposition, displayed in his daily in- 
tercourse with his family and friends, than he was admired for 
his unrivalled intellectual powers and resources. From what 
I have learned from his most intimate friends, it was probably 
in the retirement of private life at Marshfield, that the charac- 
ter of Mr. Webster displayed itself to the greatest advantage, 
— where, attired in the charming simplicity of his own great- 
ness, he ministered to his guests pleasure and instruction in the 
same lessons. There, his law books closed, the cares of state 
laid aside, he was the elegant host, dispensing a noble hospi- 
tality, with unequalled grace. It was there, too, that in the 
form of anecdote, sparkling like the wine on his generous 
board, or in the conversation of the table or the drawing-room, 
that the rich stores of his inexhaustible mind was poured forth 
in unbounded, but still lucid profusion. At his table at Wash- 
ington, around which the elite of the metropolis was so often 
assembled to partake of the hospitality of the illustrious host, 
he was, as at Marshfield, the presiding genius of the occasion, 
iidi onlv in tin character of host, attentive to the wants and 



13 

tastes of all, but in the dispensation of intellectual treasures, 
flowing spontaneously from a mind, rich in the spoils conquer- 
ed from the realms of art, science, literature and politics. In- 
struction seemed to sit upon his lips and flow from his tongue 
in sparkling streams, always tinctured by amenity and kind- 
ness. No satire, no detraction from the merits of his rivals, 
was ever indulged in on such occasions. His generous board 
was sacred to hospitality ; and its freedom was never abused 
by unworthy or ungenerous reflections, either upon absent 
friends or foes. It was only in debate, in the forum, or on 
the floor of the Senate, after he had been attacked, that Mr. 
Webster ever indulged in satire or invective. But when fully 
aroused, by some unjustifiable assault, or unmerited imputa- 
tion, he would pour forth floods of crushing invective and with- 
ering satire, which no adversarv could withstand. On such oc- 
easions his voice, changed by interior emotion, became clearer 
and deeper — falling upon the ear like the sound of some deep- 
toned instrument, while his dark, cavernous eyes would flash 
consuming fire in the face of his adversarv. Nothing could 
be more effective than this invective when he was completely 
roused; and no adversary ever dared to provoke it a second 
time. 

The colloquial powers of Mr. Webster were in no wise infe- 
rior to his powers as an orator. Nothing could be more de- 
lightful than to listen to the graceful flow of his conversation, 
in the unrestrained freedom of social intercourse ; and I have 
never met with any one who had the same facility of imparting 
instruction, which he possessed. The most abstruse and diffi- 
cult questions were made plain and easy by his manner of illus- 
trating them. During the first session of the last Congress, 
and but a few days before his final departure from Washing- 
ton, I ealled to see him at the Department of State, where I 
found hirn much engaged. After a few moments of conversa- 
tion, when I was about to leave, he requested me to remain, 
informing me that he wished to possess me of his views on the 
question of the Fisheries, then threatening to involve us in dif- 
ficulties with Great Britain, and likely to become the subject. 



1-1 

of further debate in the Senate. Knowing that hi< time was 
much occupied, and having given the Bubject little or no reflec- 
tion. 1 suggested to him that 1 would rail at his house, that even- 
ing or the next morning, when he would be probably less en- 
gaged, and have more time to put me in possession of his 
views. He replied, that the debate might be resumed that 
day, and at any rate, it would require but a few minutes to 
make me acquainted with the prominent and important points 
of the controversy between the two countries, and the mode 
by which he proposed to settle it. In reply to what he had 
said, I was proceeding to tell him, that I was not only ignorant 
of the provisions of the treaties on the subject, but likewise of 
the localities about which the controversy existed ; when he in- 
terrupted me, saying playfully, "never mind, I will teach you, 
first, your geography, and then give you your lesson on the 
diplomacy of the question." So saying, he drew me to the 
table, seated himself, took a sheet of paper, marked upon it 
the bays and inlets, and proceeded to explain the portions about 
which the controversy existed, the provisions of the treaties in 
regard to them, and the ready means of settling the difficulty; — 
and this he did, in a space of time not much greater than it 
has taken me to relate these circumstances. But short as was 

the time, he had contrived to make me understand, as he had 
promised he would do, the principal points of the controversy, 
and the means by which he proposed to settle it; and when he 
had done, he said, "now read such and such parts of the cor- 
respondence of Mr. Everett with Lord Aberdeen (1 believe it 
was,) on the subject, and you will be prepared fully for the de- 
bate, if a debate should ensue." In the very few minutes 
which he occupied, he gave me the key to the whole subject, 
which made it perfectly easy of comprehension. Such v\as 
the power be possessed of imparting knowledge; and 1 need 
not Bay to mj audience, how delightful it was to receive in- 
struction from such a man ! 

I have not time to dwell at much length on the private life 

of Daniel Webster, if, as 1 presume, I am expected to -lance 

at In- professional and public career. I will, therefore, only 



I.) 

add here, thai he was sincere as a friend, affectionate as a son, 
brother, husband and father ; and that lie possessed the social 
virtues of benevolence and chanty in as great a degree, as the 
intellectual gifts of eloquence and wisdom. The poor man 
who besought him for relief, was never turned empty-handed 
away. He expended thousands in charities of which the world 
knows nothing ; and if he had faults, as who has not t let us 
hope that they were all expiated by his acts of benevolence 
and mercy, leaving all his acts of public beneficence, as so 
many merits, standing to his credit in the great book of ac- 
counts, without impeachment or drawback. 

The professional career of Daniel Webster commenced 
carlv, and was continued up to the close of his life. A lis first 
appearance in Court was before his father, who was one of the 
Judges ; and in this, his first essay, he gave an earnest of what 
he was one day to be — the first lawyev and orator of his coun- 
try. The same clearness and cogency of argument, precision 
in<he use of language, and power of illustration, for which li<- 
was afterwards so much distinguished, characterized, in a good 
degree, his maiden effort ; and almost from that day he took 
rank amongst the ablest lawyers of New England. During 
nine years of the earlier part, of his professional life, he resi- 
ded at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where he had for com- 
petitors, in the practice of the law, such men as Jeremiah Ma- 
son and Jeremiah Smith, who at that time stood at the head 
of the New England Bar. Though much the junior of these 
distinguished lawyers in years and experience, he was a com- 
petitor whom they both dreaded. On one occasion, a gentle- 
man having a cause to try, retained Mr. Mason as his counsel? 
informing him, at the same time, that Mr. Webster was to be 
his opponent, and asking him what he thought of his abilities. 
"He is the very devil," was the emphatic reply, "and your case 
must be a good one, or it is lost." 

During the period of his service in Congress, to which Ik; 
was elected in 1812, his practice so much declined that he de- 
termined to quit Portsmouth and go to Boston, where he would 
find a wider field for his future professional exertions. It wa^ 



16 

in the year 1817, thai he first took up his permanent residN 
hi Boston, to be the competitor thenceforth, of Otis, Dexter, 
Prescott, Shaw, Gorham, and other great luminaries of the 
profession, ranking amongst the ablest in the Union. A <rreater 
array of leffal tah-nts and learning than Boston then could mus- 
ter, was nowhere to be found ; yet amidst this brilliant galaxy, 
lie shone from the start, a star of the fust magnitude. So"i> 
after ho had lived his abode in Boston, he was retained by the 
plaintiffs, in the case of The Trustees of Dartmouth Collegt vs. 
William 11. Woodward. The question at issue, was, whether 
certain acts of the General Assembly of the State of V 
Hampshire, impairing rights and privileges, confered upon tin 
Trustees of Dartmouth Colleges by the original charter, were 
binding or not. The ca>e waa tried before the State Court- 
and a judgment rendered in favor of the defendants by Chief 
Justice Richardson. A writ of error was then sued out by the 
plaintiffs, and the case removed to the Supreme Court of the 
United States, at Washington, where it was argued on the 10th 
day of March, IMS by Messrs. Webster and Hopkinson for 
the plaintiffs, and Messrs Win and Holmes for the defendants. 

In this case, if my memorj Berve me right, this question of 
the power of the State Legislatures to impair vested rights, 
was firsl decided by tile Supreme Court. The argument of 
Mr. Webster in this ca<e, was remarkable, alike, for deep re- 
search, profound acquaintance with the Constitution, logical 
force, copiousness of illustration, and beauty of diction ; and 
was spoken of by all who heard it, as a master-piece of foren- 
Bic eloquence. By it he laid the foundation of his fame as a 
it constitutional lawyer; and from that day. to the day of 
his death, he stood, by commoB consent, ;.t the head of the 
American Bar. 

But Mr. Webster was hardly less distinguished as an advo- 
cate, than as a profound logician ami lawyer. He knew the 
road to the heart, and how to melt it into sympathy with his 
will. None of the great masters of oratory knew better than 
he, how to make its chords vibrate responsively to his touch. 
WhIi a master's hand he could sweep the keys of the instru- 



17 

meat of human feeling, causing it to give forth tones of mourn- 
ful or joyous music. In the ease of John F. Knapp, indicted 
for the murder of Joseph White of Salem, on the night of the 
b"th of April, 1630, Mr. Webster, by the request of the Gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts, appeared as counsel for the Common- 
wealth, and assisted in the trial. His speech to the Jury, on 
that occasion, abounds in passages of great eloquence and 
beauty. Too scrupulous to attempt to extort a verdict not jus- 
tified by the evidence, he was, nevertheless, too conscientious 
not to perform his whole duty to the public. His object was to 
discover the truth, and present it to the jury in such a light, as 
that no painful doubt might exist in their minds, as to the guilt 
or innocence of the accused. His speech, therefore, was in 
the main, a calm, candid examination and exposition of the 
facts, as they had been detailed by the witnesses; and perhaps, 
in the whole history of criminal jurisprudence, more consum- 
mate ability, in unraveling the web of mystery, woven by cir- 
cumstances, and the ingenuity of the counsel for the accused, 
never was displayed. By the light shed from his luminous in- 
tellect, facts dark as the deed of blood, mysterious, and appa- 
rently incoherent, were elucidated, explained, and brought to- 
gether into one congruous and unbroken chain, in which no link 
was wanting to make assurance of the guilt of the prisoner 
sure. At his touch the mists of sophistry were dispelled; and 
the truth around which they had been thrown, stood revealed 
in the sight of all, challenging the acknowledgment of all. 

As 1 have stated already, his speech on this occasion, was 
mainly a calm, candid examination of the facts and circum- 
stances connected with the case; there was nothing merely de- 
clamatory, no straining after c licet. But it nevertheless con- 
tains many passages of great beauty and force. Refering to 
the murder — that it had bean done in secret; that no eye had 
^ccn the blow ; no ear heard a shriek ; that the murderer had 
escaped, believing his secret safe, the orator exclaimed : — 

"Ah ! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a se- 
cret can be safe no-wherc. The whole creation of God has 
neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and 

3 



L8 

say it is safe. Not to bjm ak of that Eye which glances through 
all disguises, ami beholds everything as in the splendor of noun — 

such secrets of guilt arc never .sale from detection, even by men. 
"Murder will out.*' Providence hath so ordained, and doth so 
govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven, 

by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. 
Especially in a ease exciting so much attention as this, discov- 
ery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand 
eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every cir- 
cumstance, connected with time and place; a thousand ears 
catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell 
on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the 
slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime. 
the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; 
or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse to be true to itself. — 
It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what 
to do with it. The human heart was not made for the resi- 
dence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a 
torment, which it dares not to acknowledge to God or man. 
A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assist- 
ance from Heaven or earth, The secret which the murderer 
possesses, soon comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits 
of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whitherso- 
ever it will. He feels it heating at his heart, rising to his 
throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world 
sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its 
workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has beconu 
his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his cour- 
age, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, from without. 
begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to en- 
tangle him, the fatal secret struggles with stift greater violence, 
to burst forth. It must be confessed; it vill be confessed; 
there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is 
confess! »n." 

In thi> passage we have a beautiful and philosophical expo- 
sition of the reason why murder cannot be concealed — why, in 
the language of Shakspean '*thougfa it have no tongue, it will 



19 

speak with mo. t miraculous organ." Macbeth, tormented with 
remorse, declares, "that hlood will have blood; that .stones have 
been known to move, and trees to speak ; that augurs, and un- 
derstood relations, have by mag-pies, and choughs, and rooks, 
brought forth the secretest man of blood." But truly as the 
great bard has represented the way in which things combine 
to bring murder to light; and beautiful as is the language in 
which he teaches us, that the cry of blood for vengeance, on 
him who shed it, is never uttered in vain, it is scarcely as stri- 
king as that of Daniel Webster, in the speech which I have 
quoted. In it, in the most forcible manner, he exposes the 
reasons, why the secret of the murderer is not safe, even when 
hidden from the whole world, and locked up in the recesses of 
his own bosom. 

The following passage, extracted from the concluding para- 
graph of the same speech, is alike just, eloquent, and appro- 
priate to the occasion. It was addressed to the jury, after he 
had finished his examination of the testimony, and was about 
to submit it to them for their final decision : — 

"There is," said he, "no evil that we cannot face or fly from, 
but the consciousness of duty disregarded. A sense of duty 
pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity. If we 
take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the 
utmost part of the seas, duty performed or duty violated is with 
us still, for our happiness or misery. If we ask the darkness 
to cover us, in the darkness as in the light, our obligations are 
yet with us. We cannot escape their power, nor fly from their 
presence. They are with us in life, and will abide with us to 
its close; and in that scene of inconceivable solemnity, which 
lies yet farther onward — we shall find ourselves surrounded by 
the consciousness of duty, to pain us, wherever it has been vio- 
lated, and to console us, so far as God may have given us grace 
to perform it." 

I shall detain you but a little longer, in speaking of his pro- 
fessional life, or of his triumphs in the judicial forum. It was 
on another theatre, where his talents were employed in vindi- 
cating the principles of the government, and promoting the 



20 

welfare of the whole country, thai his proudest victories wer< 
achieved. It was on this theatre, where the interests of na- 
tions were at slake, thai he laid the foundation of an enduring 
fame. As a lawyer, he was indeed eminent ; but as such, 
great as were the questions he was called on to discuss, impor- 
tant as a proper decision of them were, they were seldom of 
such magnitude as to reach beyond the interests of individu- 
als, to affect permanently the interests of the great body of the 
people. Questions in which the welfare of a whole people are 
involved, do sometimes arise. Where the prerogative, of the ru- 
ler in constitutional governments, grasps at some right essential 
to the preservation of civil or religious liberty — in such case, the 
safety of a nation may be committed to the hands of a lawyer : 
and if he discharge his duty, under such circumstances, with 
ability, fidelity and courage, he deserves to rank with the 
statesman, and other benefactors of his country. Erskine in 
England, and Curran in Ireland, have both been called on to 
perform such duties ; and both have acquired immortal fame bj 
the manner in which they discharged them. Regardless of 
personal consequences, animated by the noble impulse of jus- 
tice and patriotism, these eminent lawyers cast themselves into 
the breach, which tyranny was making in the constitution, and 
comhatted it with a purpose so steadfast, and an ability so 
transcendant, that, backed as it was 1»\ the servility of the 
courts, and the corrupting patronage which tin* government 
possessed, they defeated its object, and earned for themselves 
the just title of public benefactors. 

If a like occasion had called for a like duly at the hands ol 
Mr. Webster, it is nol to be doubted that he would have perform- 
ed it conscientiously and ably, and with a fearlessness and firm- 
ness which the minions of powei could neither have discourag- 
ed nor over-awed. Had some great occasion of tliis kind pre- 
sented itself to call forth his powers, those who are best ac- 
quainted with the sentiments of profound respect and venera- 
tion which he entertained for the Constitution, and the firmness 
of purpose with which he discharged whatever he regarded to 
!"• In- dutj feel assured, thai anothei wreath would have been 



21 

added to the chaplel of glory which encircles his brow. I can 
fancy the sublime spectacle that would have been presented bv 
some great tribunal, over-awe; 1 by power, or won to its unholj 
purposes by corrupting influences, lending its altars, consecra- 
ted to justice, to the sacrifice of sonic victim, marked for de- 
struction by tyranny, but between whom and his ermined exe- 
cutioners, Daniel Webster should have interposed the shield of 
the Constitution and laws — brandishing with his right hand, in 
the faces of these instruments of tyranny, the awakened ven- 
geance of an indignant and insulted nation, and pointing with 
bis left to the hell of infamy which they were digging for their 
own memory. To have seen him in such an attitude, his form 
erect, his bosom heaving, his eyes flashing, pouring forth a flood 
of indignant, terrible, invective, like that which the Athenian 
Orator, 

" fulmined o'er Greece, 

Sbakiug Philip and Artaxerxes' throne," 

to have seen him thus — the minions of power, even in their 
high place, cringing and shrinking under the scorpion lash of 
the great lawyer's tongue, would have been a sight, even more 
imposing than that which was exhibited, when he stood up in 
the crowded Senate, amongst all the great intellectual mag- 
nates of the land, replying to Col. Hayne, defending the Con- 
stitution against his assaults, and vindicating Massachusetts 
from the reproach of selfish illiberally which had been cast 
upon her. The latter occasion has furnished a subject for the 
pencil of a distinguished painter ; and out of it he has wrought 
a picture, which will transmit to posterity the faces and forms 
of many of that brilliant galaxy, which then shone in the Sen- 
ate. As was fitting, the prominent figure, the one standing out 
in boldest relief, is that of the great orator himself, surrounded 
by his compeers and rivals in fame, Clay, Calhoun, and others, 
but little inferior in distinction and inilucnce to the great tri- 
umvirate itself. But a picture drawn from a scene such as I 
have attempted to describe, into which genius had breathed 
form and life, and in which robed and ermined judges, con- 
science-smitten by the rebuke of the great advocate of const i- 



>>> 



tutional liberty, which it was their purpose to sacrifice for the 
gratification of power or their own venality, were shrinking 
iVi. in exposure and the fear of retribution, would be a finer 
study — one in which the beholder might see depicted, conscious 
guilt, trembling with the fear of detection — and virtuous patri- 
otism, exultant with the hope of a just and noble triumph, 
achieved through it< own courageous instrumentality. 

I have stated already, that Mr. Webster's career at the bar 
was brilliant and successful; and that it continued to be so to 
the close of his life, even when the most of his time was occu- 
pied with important public duties. But it must not be infered 
from this, that his success at the bar was due to the native 
powers of his mind alone. !t is indeed true that he possess* d 
an eminently legal mind, of almost unequalled powers. But 
with all this, he was laborious, and constant in his application. 
Few men understand better the importance of study, or culti- 
vated knowledge, in all its various branches, with greater assi- 
duity. To his diligence in preparation, rather than to Ins nat- 
ural abilities, he himself ascribed his success, both at the bar 
and in the Senate. He was in the habit of saying, that no man 
could become greatly distinguished at the bar, who did not con- 
sult his books daily; and this is the testimony of all great law- 
yers. Mr. Sergeant \\>rd to say, that "daily reading was as 
necessary to a lawyer, as daily honing to a razor." 

Hut I can dwell no longer on the history of his professional 
lite. It i- time to turn to his public career, so long, so distin- 
guished, and so beneficial to the country, in all its relations, 
foreign and domestic. 

A- has been noticed already, Mr. Webster was firsl elected 
to Congress in \>\'2, during the late war with Great Britain. 
In politics In- was a Federalist, and voted generally, though not 
uniformly, with his party. He had imbibed, in early life, many 
of the opinion^ of Hamilton, and those of his Bchool, on the 
subjed "f the Constitution, ami the powers of the Federal 
Government; and these opinions, with such modifications as 
experience suggested, wen- cherished by him to the last. — 
Some of the views of the great Federal leader, it is true, were 



23 

repudiated by Mr. Webster; but I think there can be no doubt 
that the influence of Hamilton's opinions had impressed him 
more thoroughly than those of any other of the great revolu- 
tionary statesmen. 

Entering Congress without any previous political training, 
he rose speedily to acknowledged eminence amongst the great 
men of the nation, then members of the House of Represen- 
tatives. But richly as he was endowed with the gifts of intel- 
lect ; and great as he soon showed himself in debate, he was 
regarded with something both of jealousy and distrust by the 
representatives of the Southern States, in consequence of his 
New England birth and education. The influence which New 
England had exerted in the earlier days of the Republic, as 
well as throughout the period of the Revolution, had passed 
away ; and the position she had assumed in relation to the ex- 
isting war, had increased the distrust with which she was re- 
garded ; and this distrust was to some extent reflected upon her 
representatives, on the floor of Congress. Virginia had ac- 
quired influence in the confederacy; and in proportion as her 
political ascendancy increased, that of New England declined ; 
and this fact never ceased to operate as a drawback on Mr. 
Webster's advancement in popular favor, especially in the 
South. But though this is true, he never was denied the pos- 
session of talents of the highest order. Speaking of him, soon 
after his appearance in Congress, Mr. Lowndes, a distinguished 
southern member, said, "that the North had not his equal, nor 
the South his superior;" and this was no partial opinion, but 
one which universally prevailed. 

After serving several terms in Congress, as a member from 
the State of New Hampshire, finding himself straitened in lii- 
circumstances hy the neglect of his professional pursuits, he 
removed to Boston. A few years of industrious application to 
his profession, on the new and wider theatre on which they 
were exercised, having re-established his pecuniary indepen- 
dence, he was re-elected to Congress, from the City of Boston, 
in 1821, and served two terms in the House of Representa- 
tives, with continually increasing distinction. In 1826, he was 



21 

elected to the Senate; and un this theatre it was that he 
achieved so wide a reputation. During the long period of his 

service in that body, he .-lood in the front rank of the great 
men, who have given to it the character of the first delibera- 
tive assembly in the world. Such an array of eloquence, tal- 
ents and learning as graced the American Senate during a 
great portion of the time that Mr. Webster was a member, 
lias hardly appeared together on any stage, except that of the 
English House of Commons, when it numbered amongst its 
members, at one and the same time, Burke ami Pitt, Fox and 
Sheridan, Windham and Grey, And splendid as was that ar- 
ray, and proudly as England boasts of it, America, with as ji at 
a pride, may point to her own bright galaxy, composed of such 
names as those of Webster, Clay, Calhoun, llayne, Wright, 
Preston, and others, scarcely their inferiors. 

During the period of Mr. Webster's service in the Senate, 
it was the theatre of displays of intellectual power, eloquence, 
and political wisdom, unrivalled, in either ancient or modern 
times. The boundaries of the Constitution, and the powers of 
the government under it, were ascertained and determined. — 
The foreign and domestic policy of the country was established 
on something like a permanent basis, and its resource- devel- 
oped by judicious legislation. Although the machine of gov- 
ernment had been put in motion by the fathers of the Repub- 
lic, men eminent for their practical wisdom and forecast, its 
workings had to be regulated and systematized bythe succeed- 
ing generation of statesmen. And in the debates, in which 
tin' principles and powers of the government were discussed, 
no one brought to the examination of the questions involved in 
the discussion, a greater share of practical talents and enlight- 
ened statesmanship, than Daniel Webster. His great logical 
powers, clearness of perception, and copiousness ot illustra- 
tion, were eminently useful in pointing out the true boundaries 
of the executive, legislative and judicial departments of the 

government. And no less useful were they, when applied to 
the discussion of questions, connected with its foreign relations, 
and the establishment of its internal policy. In the develope 



25 

inent of its resources, the regulation of its finances, and the 
revision of the criminal code, his luminous and richly stored in- 
tellect, was constantly and successfully employed. 

In the debates on these various topics, there is a rich store 
of political wisdom, which every student of the history of the 
country, and of the Constitution, will find it profitable to study 
with diligent attention. Indeed, no one can pretend to a tho- 
rough or competent knowledge of our political history without 
an attentive and careful study of Mr. Webster's speeches on 
the subjects to which I have refered. As well might a lawyer 
profess to be versed in the science of the law, who had never 
read Coke and Blackstone, and the works of the eminent com- 
mentators, as the modern legislator or statesman, who should 
pretend to understand the history of the Constitution, without 
having read the speeches of Daniel Webster. 

Political discussion is frequently more brilliant than solid; 
and there is often more effort to enlist and array prejudice, than 
to convince the reason and instruct the understanding. But 
Mr. Webster never employed it for such a purpose. His 
speeches, rich as they often were in all the graces of rhetoric, 
possessed, nevertheless, all the exactness of judicial judgments. 
A judicious and candid friend of the deceased statesman, once 
said, "that it was impossible to hear him in the Senate, or read 
his speeches with care, without feeling that his intellect was 
above the sphere, high as it was, in which he was employed, 
or to repress the idea, that his largeness of views, his calm- 
ness, gravity, sagacity, power of investigation, and dignified 
clocmence, could be only displayed to their greatest advantage, 
in a high executive sphere; in the conduct of arduous negotia- 
tions with foreign powers; in disposing of great epiestions of 
public policy ; comprehending in one grand survey the various 
interests of a mighty country, and infusing a lofty patriotism 
into the people." 

Among the great men to whom I have refered, his compeers 
in the Senate, and rivals for glory, he was, in point of intellect, 
undoubtedly the first. In direct and immediate influence over 
an assembly, of which both wore members, Mr. Clav, in all 

4 



26 

probability, would have exercised a greater degree of power. 
His vehemence, ardor, and declamatory talents, gave him an 
influence over deliberative bodies, such as I have never seen 
equalled. He understood, too, better than Mr. Webster, the 

secret of parliamentary tactics, and was much more industri- 
ous in the exercise of his personal influence on members, and 
in drilling his forces for a vote. Mr. Webster relied more on 
convincing men's reason; Mr. Clay in carrying captive their 
feelings ; and it must be admitted, that the latter was generally 
the most successful. Both were great men — eminently greaf, 
but very dissimilar in character and intellect. The one was 
calm, cool, logical, reflective, deeply versed in most of the 
branches of human knowledge, and especially in the science of 
government. The other was ardent, vehement, reaching his 
conclusions by a sort of intuition; he was, besides, thoroughly 
acquainted with men, and master of their passions. His learn- 
ing was not extensive ; but his promptness in the use of all lie 
possessed was wonderful. The appropriate emblem of the for- 
mer, was the deep, calm, river, flowing quietly and grandly on> 
through rich low lands, producing fertility, and spreading ver- 
dure over the fields upon its banks; of the latter, the rapid 
mountain torrent, rushing impetuously onward, through rocks 
and amongst precipices, forcing its way over every obstacle, 
but diffusing, likewise, freshness and life along its course. 

Many of the great orators of the last age, had single quali- 
ties, superior to those of Mr. Webster. In our own country, 
Patrick Henry, Fisher Ames, Henry Clay and others, had, 
perhaps, more original genius — certainly, richer and more ex- 
uberant imaginations. But in the union of high intellectual 
powers, felicity of expression and logical force, none of them, 
probably, were his equal; nor will the productions of any of 

them bear comparison with his. 

Mr. Webster has often been compared with Burke, Fox and 
Pitt, the great luminaries of the British House of Commons. 
lie differed, however, widely from them all. In varied learn- 
ing, in the magnificence of his style, and the almost Oriental 
gorgeoushess of his diction Burke was his superior; and as a 



21 

political philosopher, treating of the original principles of the 
social compact, the science of government, and the relative 
duties of ruler and people, he was without an equal. But in 
sound, practical wisdom, as a debater in a legislative assembly, 
in the enforcement of political truth, by direct simplicity of 
language, and aptness of illustration, Mr. Webster was vastly 
his superior. 

Fox, in fervor, earnestness, energy, declamatory power, and 
rich exuberance of language ; Pitt, in polished, sonorous, com- 
manding eloquence and grace of manner, may also have surpass- 
ed Mr. Webster; but neither have left on record speeches, which 
are at all comparable in ability and real eloquence to those of 
the American statesman. And it is doubtful, if in the annals 
of spoken eloquence, of any age or nation, there is to be found 
anything superior to that which Mr. Webster .has left behind, 
as a legacy to all future generations, speaking the English lan- 



guage. 



Orators there iiave been, who, by a sontence, almost with a 
word, eould sway the assemblies of which they were members. 
"Such was the elder Pitt; such was Patrick. Henry ; and such 
was Mirabeau, the great French Tribune. Mr. Webster pos- 
sessed none of this electrical power and influence. His ora- 
tory did not resemble the flashing of the lightning, or the roll- 
ing of the thunder. In its effects, it was like the gently de- 
scending rain, enriching, fertilizing and refreshing the earth 
on which it fell. It was addressed to the reason; not to the 
passions ; and was designed to instruct, and not to dazzle or 
mislead. 

In debate, no man was more careful to avoid personalities 
than he was ; but when aroused by a wanton and unprovoked 
assault, as I have stated already, he could deal blows of terri- 
ble force. 

To quote at length from his Senatorial and other speeches, 
would occupy more time than I have to devote to such a pur- 
pose. I cannot, however, forbear one or two extracts. The 
first is from his discourse in commemoration of the lives of 
John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, and consists in the words 



28 

which he puts into the mouth of the former, on the day Inde- 
pendence was declared. But first let me refer to the speech 
to which Mr. Adams's is presumed to he a reply : 

"Let us pause ! This step, once taken, cannot be retraced. 
This resolution, once passed, will cut off all hope of reconcilia- 
tion. If success attend the arms of England, we shall then be 
no longer colonies, with charters, and with privileges; these 
will all be forfeited by this act ; and we shall be in the condi- 
tion of other conquered people, at the mercy of the conquerors. 
For ourselves, we may be ready to run the hazard ; but are we 
ready to carry the country to that length ? Is success so pro- 
bable as to justify it? Where is the military, where the naval 
power, by which we are to resist the whole strength of the arm 
of England, for she will exert that strength to the utmost ? 
Can we rely on the constancy and perseverance of the people ? 
or will they not act, as the people of other countries have act- 
ed, and, wearied with a long war, submit, in the end, to a worse 
oppression? "While we stand on our old ground, and insist on 
redress of grievances, we know we are right, and are not an- 
swerable for consequences. Nothing, then, can be imputable 
to us. But if we now change our object, carry our pretensions 
further, and set up for absolute independence, we shall lose the 
sympathy of mankind. We shall no longer be defending what 
we possess, but struggling for something which we never did 
possess, and which we have solemnly and uniformly disclaimed 
all intention of pursuing, from the very outset of the trouble-. 
Abandoning thus our old ground, of resistance only to arbitrary 
acts of oppression, the nations will believe the whole to have 
been mere pretence, and they will look on us, not as injured, 
but as ambitious subjects. [ shudder, before this responsi- 
bility." 

To this Mr. Adams replied : 

"Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand, 
and my heart, to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the be- 
ginning, we aimed not at independence. But there*- a Divinity 
which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven 
us to arms ; and, blinded to her own interest for our good, she 



29 

has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within onr 
graSp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why 
then should we defer the declaration ? Is any man so weak as 
now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave 
either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his 
own life, and his own honor ? Are not you, sir, who sit in that 
chair, is not he, our venerable colleague near you, are you not 
both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punish- 
ment and vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemen- 
cy, what are you, what can you be, while the power of Eng- 
land remains, but outlaws? If we postpone independence, do 
we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war ? Do we mean to 
submit to the measures of parliament, Boston port-bill and all"? 
Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be 
ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down 
in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We never 
shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obliga- 
tion ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our 
sacred honor to Washington, when putting him forth to incur 
the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, 
we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our for- 
tunes and our lives? I know there is not a man here, who 
would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the 
land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that 
plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve 
months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington 
be appointed commander of the forces, raised or to be raised, 
for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her 
cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I 
hesitate or waver, in the support I give him. The war, then, 
must go on. We must fight it through. * * * * 
"If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. 
The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will create navies. 
The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, 
and will carry themselves, gloriously, through this struggle. I 
care not how other people have been found. I know the peo- 
ple of these colonies, and I know that resistance to British ng- 



30 

gression, is deep and set; led in their hearts, and cannot be eradi- 
cated. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to 
follow, if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will in- 
spire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long 
and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of 
grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, 
set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and 
it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this 
declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn 
from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, 
or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit ; 
religion will approve it. and the love of religions liberty will 
cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send 
it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it, who 
heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it, 
who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the Held of Bun- 
kerhill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the 
very walls will cry out in its support. 

"Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, bat I sec, I 
see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, 
may rue it. We may not live to the time, when this declara- 
tion shall be made good. We may die ; die colonists ; die, 
slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously and on the scaffold. Be 
it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall 
require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, 
at. the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. 
But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope 
of a country, anil that a free country. 

"But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, that 
this declaration will Btand. It may cost treasure, and it may 
cost blond; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for 
both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I sec the 

brightness of the future, as the sun in Heaven. We shall 
make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we arc in our 
graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it. with 
thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. 
On its annual return the) will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, 



31 

not of subjection and shivery, not of agony and distress, but of 
exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe 
the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and 

my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, 
and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready hero to stake 
upon it ; and I leave off, as I begun, that live or die, survive or 
perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, 
and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying- sentiment ; in- 
dependence, no;r; and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER." 

The next extract is from his celebrated reply to Hayneinthe 
Senate, somewhat trite I know, but appropriate to my purpose 
of exhibiting the masculine character of his eloquence, when 
roused by occasion to u^c it : 

" Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections — let me indulge 
in refreshing remembrance of the past — let me remind you that 
in early times, no states cherished greater harmony, both of 
principle and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. 
Would to God that harmony might again return ! Shoulder to 
shoulder they went through the revolution — hand in hand they 
stood round the administration of Washington, and felt, his own 
great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, 
alienation and distrust, arc the growth, unnatural to such soils, 
of false principles since sown. They arc weeds, the seeds of 
which that same great arm never scattered. 

Mr. President, I shall enter no encomium upon Massa- 
chusetts — she needs none. There she is — behold her, and 
judge for yourselves. There is her history ; the world knows 
it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, 
and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there they 
will remain forever. The bones of her sons, that fell in the great 
struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of ev- 
ery state, from New England to Georgia; and there they will 
lie forever. And sir, where American Liberty raised its first 
voice ; and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there 
it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its ori- 
ginal spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party 
strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it — if folly and 



32 

madness — if uneasiness, under salutary and necc sary restraint 
— shall succeed to separate it from that union, by which alone 
its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side 
of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked : it will stretch 
forth its arm with whatever of visror it may still retain, over 
the friends who gather round it: and it will fall at last, if fall 
it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and 
on the very spot of its origin." * 

• Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dis- 
sent to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintain- 
ed. 1 am conscious of having detained you and the Senate 
much too long. I was drawn into the debate, with no previous 
deliberation such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and 
important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is 
full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of 
its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade my- 
self to relinquish it, without expressing, once more, my deep 
conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the union of 
the states, it is of most vital and essential importance to the 
public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career, hitherto, to have 
kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole 
country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is to 
that union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration 
and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we arc chiefly in- 
debted for whatever makes us mosl proud of our country. — 
That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in 
the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in- the neces- 
sities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
credit. Under its benign influences, these greal interests im- 
mediate!;, awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with new- 
ness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh 
proofs of its utility and its blessings; and, although our terri- 
tory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population 
spread farther and farther, they have DOl outrun its protection 
or it- benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of na- 
tional, social, and personal happiness. 1 have not allow ed, my- 
self. Bir, to look beyond the union, to set whal might lie hidden 



33 

in the dark recesses behind. 1 have not coolly weighed the 
chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us to- 
gether shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed my- 
self to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, 
with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; 
nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this 
government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on consid- 
ering, not how the union should best be preserved, but how tol- 
erable might be the condition of the people when it shall be 
broken up and destroyed. While the union lasts, we have high, 
exciting, gratifying, prospects spread out before us, for us and 
our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. — 
God grant that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. 
God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies 
behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last 
time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the bro- 
ken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union ; on 
states dissevered, discordant, belligerant; on a land rent with 
civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let 
their last feeble and lingering glance, rather behold the gor- 
geous ensign of the republic, now known and honored through- 
out the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies 
streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or pollu- 
ted, nor a single star obscured — bearing for its motto, no such 
miserable interrogatory, as What is all this tcorth? Nor 
those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Uni- 
on afterwards — but everywhere, spread all over in characters 
of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they iloat over 
the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole 
heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American 
heart — Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and insepa- 
rable !" 

But time presses, and I cannot afford to dwell longer on his 
Senatorial career, inviting as it is, and rich though it be in 
mines of political and intellectual wealth. In taking leave of 
it, however, let me advise every student of American history, 
every one who desires to become acquainted with the true 

5 



34 

character and genius of our institutions, to study carefully the 
great speeches which he lias delivered from time to time in the 
Senate. He who consults them, will not only make himself 
familiar with the institutions of his country, but likewise with 
the finest specimens of parliamentary eloquence that are extant 
in the world. 

But the public services of Mr. Webster were not confined to 
the Senate. In another sphere of action, quite as well suited 
to his genius as it, he has performed the most important servi- 
ces for the country, displaying, as a diplomatist, the same su- 
periority which characterized his efforts as a debater and legis- 
lator. Called to the head of the State Department in 1841, 
he negotiated during the next year, the treaty of Washington, 
with Lord Ashburton, by which the question of the Northeast- 
ern Boundary, so long a subject of dispute between the United 
States and Great Britain, and which had often threatened to 
involve the two countries in a conflict which could not have 
proved other than disastrous to both, was settled. In the dis- 
charge of all the functions with which he was clothed as Se- 
cretary of State, he displayed the Mime rare combination of 
talents which he had exhibited on all the various theatres on 
which he had been called on to act. For more than two years 
previous to his death, he occupied the chief place in Mr. Fill- 
more's cabinet ; and all the world knows with what surpassing 
ability, he discharged the duties of his high trust. His reply 
to the Chevalier Hulseman. the Charge if Affaires of Austria, 
who had complained of the conduct of the preceding adminis- 
tration, in sending an agent into Hungary to ascertain the -fate 
of the contest, waging in that country, and with the design of 
acknowledging her independence as soon as it mighl be appa- 
rent that she could maintain herself in the struggle, i* a state 
paper ot" tin- highest value to ever] one who desires to under- 
stand the rights and duties of a free and independent govern- 
ment, in the like circumstances. In the conclusiveness of 
its reasons in justification of the act complained of. as well as 
the dignified tone in which the impertinent interference of 
the Austrian envoy was rebuked, it was admirable; and pro- 



35 

duced a sensation in the country, greater than any other state 
paper has done, within the period of my remembrance. It 
found an answering echo in every freeman's heart, both here 
and throughout the world. The despot stood rebuked before 
the republican statesman ; and the heart of the nations aspir- 
ing to freedom, beat freer when it was discovered that a power 
had risen in the New World, that dared to claim the right of 
sympathizing with humanity, wheresoever it might be found 
struggling with oppression. 

Of the labors of the statesman in the cabinet, little can be 
known by the people, but. by their results. The deeds of the 
soldier, performed on the field of battle, have a thousand wit- 
nesses. The displays of oratory in the Senate, or at the bar, 
is heralded forth by the press, and elicit the admiration of the 
country. But the labors of the statesman come to light only 
in their fruits. We enjoy security ; prosperity and happiness 
surround us ; and we are accustomed to regard them as the 
natural consequences of a fortunate position, instead of attri- 
buting them to the watchful providence of the statesman. His 
secret labors for the public good ripen into a harvest, of abun- 
dance, unperceived. The influence which he exerts over the 
welfare of nations, is often but little more obvious to the mass 
of the people, than the process by which nature acts, in produ- 
cing the tree from the seed. It is for these reasons, that the 
services of Mr. Webster, in the cabinet, are less appreciated 
by his countrymen than those performed on the more public 
and conspicuous theatre of the Senate. To those who are fa- 
miliar with the subjects with which he had to deal, and the 
ability displayed in treating them, his character as a diplomatist 
will appear in a light quite as exalted as his character as a de- 
bater and legislator. Indeed, there arc many, as I have stated 
already, who have always regarded the cabinet as the proper 
sphere for the display of the highest powers of his intellect. — 
A discriminating friend, speaking on this subject, has declared, 
that "it might be safely said of Mr. Webster, that even in the 
Senate of the United States, his powers were beyond his field; 
that brilliant as his position was, and unsurpassed as was his 



36 

power in the Senatorial arena, no man could witness and calmly 
analyze the character of his efforts, without feeling that his in- 
tellect was above the contentious sphere of the partizan war- 
fare, often waged there." 

In the opinion thus expressed, and in which many participa- 
ted, there is a great deal of justice. His mind was eminently 
fitted to deal with great questions, involving the peace and wel- 
fare of nation-. He possessed, it is true, but little of the kind of 
tact possessed by such diplomatists as Talleyrand. But there 
was a directness and force in his manner of treating things, from 
which chicanery shrank, and which abashed unjust pretension. 
These qualities, in face to face discussion, were especially for- 
midable; and he would have been a bold man, who, under the 
glance of the great statesman's flashing eye, would have ven- 
tured to propose anything unjust to his country, or dishonorable 
for him to accept. In great intellectual power, accompanied 
by directness of purpose, there is a force which awes injustice 
and rebukes chicane; and this kind of power and directness 
were amongst the prominent attributes of Mr. Webster's mind. 
But his career is ended. Judges and Juries will hear him 
no more. His place in the Senate and council board is vacant. 
The tongue of the orator is silent. Sage counsels will never 
again ilow from his eloquent lips. But there is this of conso- 
lation, that he departed full of years and of honors, sinking to 
rest amongst those whom he loved the most, and wept by the 
country he had served so well. He died, too, at peace with 
Heaven as well as earth, assured that when he had passed 
through the dark valley of the shadow of death, he would be 
welcomed on the shores of the eternal world, with the plaudit, 
"well done, good and faithful servant." To die thus, after a 
long life of honorable service, gratefully acknowledged by his 
country, is no misfortune. 

Such was the death of Mr. Webster. Such, a few short 
months before, had been the death of Mr. Clay. To neither was 
the summons unwelcome. Both had lived long enough to real- 
ize, that Death, when he comes in the fullness of time, alter 
life's work is faithfully done, is grateful as the Sabbath to the 



37 

laborer, weary with six days of painful toil. I>ut with llic 
country the case is different. To it, the loss of a good, great 
and wise man is always a misfortune ; and here it was doubly so. 

The sod had hardly become green on the grave of Clay, when 
the nation was called on to clothe itself in mourning for Web- 
ster. The funeral bells had scarce ceased to toll for the one, 
until the mournful booming of the minute guns, informed the 
country of the decease of the other. They had acted together 
on the same theatres in life, and in death they were divided 
but for a moment. 

In the contemplation of the death-beds of such men, there 
is much that is interesting as well as solemn. To see a man 
like one of these, who, for a great portion of his life, lias oc- 
cupied a high place in the public regard, who has been the ob- 
ject of adulation and flattery, before whom sincere men have 
bowed with honest respect, and hypocrites with affected, but 
well feigned veneration — to behold such an one, as the sands in 
the hour-glass of Time run low, lying in the calm expectancy of 
his summons hence, humbly acknowledging that there is no sal- 
vation in mortal strength, that earthly fame is vanity, the ambi- 
tion of power a delusive phantom, the only consolation duty, 
faithfully performed, and the only hope which fadeth not, faith 
in the atonement of God's own Son, is a sight, more instruc- 
tive to him, who is willing to derive instruction from it, than all 
the lessons of wisdom, which the dying man has given, in the 
days of his earthly strength. A sweet female writer has said 
that lite has many beautiful and impressive scenes ; that 
amongst them are "the brightness of early morn, the starry 
night, the hymn of thousands arising from the sacred fane, the 
marriage rite and funeral dirge ; but none so holy as the cham- 
ber of the dying, where (heaving mortality, in the spirit of 
humble confidence in atoning mercy, is preparing to put off 
the garments of earth, and clothe itself in the habiliments of 
Heaven, to accompany the Angel, sent to guide it hence, to its 
repose in the bosom of God." 

Ladies and gentlemen : I am aware that this discourse has 
already grown on my hands to a tedious length, yet I cannot 



38 

forbear adding a won! on the religious character, private and 
social life of Daniel Webster. His private biographer, speak- 
ing on this subject, says: "He was a believer in the Great 
Atonement ; and though living, as he did, in a sphere of pecu- 
liar temptations, he may have committed errors, he needed no 
promptings to lead him to a speedy repentance. He was actu- 
ated by a spirit of charity which knew no bounds. He treas- 
ured no animosities against his fellow men ; and when once 
wronged by those in whom he had confided with all the guile- 
lessness of a child, he never retaliated, but moved in another 
sphere, beyond their reach. lie was a student of the Bible, 
and read it habitually in his family, whenever the annoyances 
of his official position did not prevent ; and never sat down 
with his family when alone, to enjoy the bounties of his table, 
without first imploring a blessing. No man ever thought or 
talked with more reverence of the power or holiness of God. 
He came of a race of good men ; was baptized into, and be- 
came a member, in his college days, of the Congregational 
Church, but died in communion of the Protestant Episcopal 
Church, of which he was a devout member." 

Much of what his biographer says of him, in the extract just 
quoted, I know to be true. At his table, I have frequently 
been a witness of the fervent manner in which he invoked the 
blessing of God, and uttered thanks for his bounteous and pro- 
vident kindness. I have heard him also, on many occasions, 
speak of the Bible, in terms which indicated his deep convic- 
tion of its sublime truths. Benevolence and kindness wera 
prominent qualities of his heart. With him, charity was not 
only a sentiment, but a duty likewise J and he gave liberally, 
generously, and without ostentation. 

Of the Sabbath he was a strict observer. Not only was it 
devoted to rest from temporal labor of every kind, but even 
those recreations, which by many are deemed innocent, such 
as visiting, receiving visits, and conversing on every-dav topics, 
were habitually ami strictly forborne, both by him and his fam- 
ily. It was regarded as a day of rest, reflection and devotion. 

In his religious creed there was nothing narrow, illiberal or 



30 

bigoted. As I have stated, he was a member of the Episcopal 
Church ; hut he looked upon the members of every Chris- 
tian church as brcthen. Some of my audience will remember 
to have seen him, in this very house, consecrated to the wor- 
ship of God, by a denomination of christians different from 
that to which he belonged, seated at the Lord's Table, parta- 
king of this holiest christian rite, in humble fellowship with the 
communicants of the congregation — and there may be some, 
too, who will remember when, on the same day, it was pro- 
posed to him to visit some of the mines in the neighborhood, 
that he declined, stating as his reason for so doing, "that it 
was the Sabbath, a day on which he was accustomed to refrain 
from all worldly employments and recreations." 

This, if it prove nothing else, proves that he was not asham- 
ed to be numbered with those who look upon the Sabbath as a 
holy day. 

He has been accused of coldness and selfishness — as wanting 
in the kindly and generous sympathies of our nature. The ac- 
cusation was unjust. As a son, brother, husband, parent, and 
friend, he was kind, amiable, generous — overflowing with cor- 
dial sympathy. In his family relations he was fortunate. His 
father was a man of high, pure principles, affectionate and de- 
voted to the welfare of his children. His brother, Ezekiel, 
was cast in the same generous mould. Both of his wives were 
patterns of female excellence, highly accomplished, and culti- 
vated alike in manners and intellect. The present Mrs. Web- 
ster was one of the greatest ornaments of Washington society, 
equally beloved and respected. For all his children he enter- 
tained the warmest affection ; and all his strivings after fame 
were more with a view of seeing it reflected upon them, than 
for any gratification it would have afforded to himself. Of 
this I feel very sure. Doubtless, his first object, in all his la- 
bors, was his country ; but the second was his children. 

Mr. W r ebster was a lover of nature. He had a poet's eye 
for all that was beautiful, picturesque or sublime. He loved 
the green fields and shady woods of Marshfield, — to watch the 
waves of the sea, gilded with the beams of the morning sun, 



10 

rolling in endless succession to the shore. The vastness of the 

ocean always possesses attractions for such a mind as his. Its 
fathomless depth, its boundless space, arc the best emblems of 
infinity, so interesting to highly contemplative and far-reaching 
minds. 

But animals, as well as inanimate nature, had attractions 
for Mr. Webster. He was fond of his In uses, cows, and the 
fine cattle he had collected on his farm. He was, too, a good 
judge of their qualities, and took pleasure in pointing them out 
to the guests, whom his fame and hospitality had attracted to 
Marshfield. He was a keen sportsman, and often laid aside his 
books for his fishing rod and gun. The love of nature, agri- 
cultural pursuits, and harmless sports arc traits always pleasant 
to recognize, in one whom the world has only known as a grave 
statesman and legislator, employed in the weighty matters of 
government. 

In writing on these subjects he always displayed a cultivated 
taste and genial humor. A letter to John Taylor, his tenant, 
written in the month of March preceding his death, giving him 
instructions what fields to plow, and how to cultivate the {arm, 
exhibits much of this kind of humor, as well as practical 
knowledge on the subject of agriculture. Among other things, 
he tells his tenant, "that a little farm well tilled, is to a farmer, 
the next best thing to a little wife well willed." Such little 
traits as these, exhibited in his intercourse, with his agricultu- 
ral friends and neighbors, made him a meat favorite with them; 
and the esteem and affect ion which they entertained for him 
were manifested by the grief which they felt when they heard 
of his death. During bis illness, business in the neighborhood 
was almost suspended, from the moment he was known to be 
in danger. A deep solicitude was felt, to be informed, from 
bom- to hour, of the state lie was in, and what ground there 
was to hope for his recovery. 

The scene which the death bed of Mr. Webster exhibited 
has often been described, and 1 will not fatigue you by a repe- 
tition of it. He was calm and composed, perfectly conscious 
that his malady was fatal, and his end at baud. The last 



41 

words of great men have been, in all ages, carefully collected 
and treasured up; and arc generally supposed to be indicative 
of the ruling passion of the individual. But they arc often, 
rather the offspring of temporary delirium, or produced by the 
ellbrt of a fading memory to grasp some fact of by-gone years, 
suggested, probably, by the accidental touch of some particular 
link in the chain of old associations. Sometimes, undoubtedly, 
they arc expressive of what has been the governing motive or 
passion of life. But whatever they may indicate, the last words 
of men, widely known, through the influence they have exercis- 
ed over their age or country, a collection of them would be both 
curious and interesting. The last words of Mr. Webster, were, 
"I still live." Their literal significance is simple enough — the 
mere annunciation that the great debt of nature was yet to pay. 
But as Mr. Everett, his friend and biographer has interpreted 
them, they not only attest the serene composure of his mind, 
but likewise express his conviction, that he would continue 
to live in the affections of the people to whose service he had 
consecrated his days ; that though the icy hand of death was 
already laid upon his heart, he would still live in the words of 
counsel which he had spoken to his fellow citizens, and which 
he was about to leave them, as the last bequest of a dying 
friend. This is a beautiful, and may be a correct interpreta- 
tion of the dying statesman's last words. At any rate he mi"ht 
well possess the consciousness, even in that supreme hour, when 
soul and body were about to separate, that his memory could 
not die. 

When the elder Adams, fifty years from the day he had stood 
up in the old Congress, to enforce the declaration of indepen- 
dence, with an eloquence more potent than Cicero's, lay expi- 
ring upon the bed of death, roused himself by an impulse of 
momentary strength, and exclaimed, "independence forever," 
and then sank down and died, he was doubtless wandering in 
imagination, back amongst the years of the past, the advocate 
of that declaration, which he then pledged himself should "be 
made good, come what might." He was again, for a moment, 
the inspired prophet of the people, pointing them to the pro- 



42 

mised land, and urging them to enter upon it, as their own just 
heritage. 

At the same hour, Ins great contemporary, friend and rival, 
the sage of Monticcllo, lay dying. His thoughts too were of 
his country ; but his last words were words of prayer, expres- 
sing resignation in the will of Providence : "Xunc Domine di- 
mittas" — now, Lord, let me depart, he exclaimed, and died. 
He had seen the salvation of his country ; and having seen it, 
he departed in peace ! 

"When John Quincy Adams was lying in the House of Re- 
presentatives, his eyes dimmed by the him which death was 
spreading over them, calmly reflecting on the closing scene in 
life's strange drama, his parting words, were the question which 
he asked himself: "Is this the last of earth V Here was the 
philosopher, calm in the article of death, speculating on its 
character, in its own awful presence. Composure like this, 
spoke of the peace within, which passeth understanding. 

Henry Clay, another of the illustrious intellectual brother- 
hood, gathered by death into his garner, was again, in his last 
hours, a "little child," in his distant, orphan home, lisping t la- 
sweet syllables contained in the words, "Mother, my mother." 
Ambition no longer possessed his heart. His mind dwelt not, 
in death, on the ovations and triumphs of his life. It was be- 
side the parental hearth, at his mother's knee, where in days 
long past, he had heard the counsels of love, uttered by a 
mother's lips, that he now stood in imagination. Thither, 
where he could repose his dying head on the same bosom 
which had been its pillow in infancy, he was carried, in his 
last moments, by the unerring instinct of the memory of the 
heart. And what a commentary is this on the worthlessness 
of fame? His triumphs, and the popular applause which fol- 
lowed them, were forgotten : and memory turned for consola- 
tion to the humble scenes which clustered about the home of 

childhood. 

But a different spectacle is presented on the death-beds of 
those who have lived for themselves alone — to gratify a morbid 
and selfish ambition. Napoleon departed, his mind engaged in 



43 

rnanceuvreing his fierce battalions on some field of battle, the 
words, "tete (Farme" in his mouth. Mirabeau, the leading 
spirit of the National Assembly, died, full of the consciousness 
of his own greatness, and importance to France and the world, 
uttering words indicative, in death, of the cold and heartless 
creed which he had professed in life. "Mourir est a durmir" — 
to die is to sleep, were the last words of one, whose only lift- 
was the present, and who had no hope beyond. How great 
the difference between the death of the good man ond patriot, 
who sinks to rest after life's work is done, in the consciousness 
of having discharged his dutv to his country, full of humble 
assurance, that there is a better world, where he shall reap 
"the recompence of the reward," and that of the ambitious 
and selfish seeker after his own personal gratifications and ob- 
jects, and who has never realized that life had any higher or 
better aim ! To the latter, any other life than the present, is 
h shadow, cast by vain hopes or weak fears. To such, death, 
if perchance he should come without terrors, comes also with- 
out consolation — bringing no better hope than that summed up 
in the expiring words of Mirabeau, that "to die is to sleep." 
How different was the creed of Mr. Webster? How much 
more consolatory the faith which taught him to look beyond the 
grave for the happiness which "eye hath not seen, nor ear 
heard, and which hath not entered into the heart of man to 
conceive !" He departed full of a glorious hope himself, leav- 
ing to bis country the legacy of his counsels, and an enduring 
monument to his own intellectual fame. 

"While kings in dusky darkness hid, 
Will leave a nameless pyramid," 

Mr. Webster and his great compeers have left behind them 

names as bright and fadeless as the stars which shine in 

Heaven. 



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